Daisy Duke's Arc

Chapter 4 of 22

The rose lamp drew a small crowd by dawn. Daisy watched from behind her counter, sun bread steaming in the box. A man in a work coat stepped close, then stopped. His eyes found her face—the big eye, the white petals around it. He backed away. A woman behind him did the same. Three more turned and left the light. Nobody reached the window. Nobody bought a loaf. By the third morning, Daisy had six cold loaves and no coins. The lamp pulled strangers in. Her face pushed them out. She slumped on the picnic bench and wondered if a shop needed a shopkeeper they could look at. "You're scaring them stiff, sugar," said a smooth voice. Leslie Sweetspell settled beside her, candy gown rustling like frosting. The candy witch had helped Daisy once with a jammed oven, and she smiled now with that too-sweet look Daisy never fully trusted. "They can't taste a Sunday if they run from the seller." "I can't change my face," Daisy said. "No." Leslie tapped her lollipop eyepatch. "But you can give them a reason to stay. Folks fear what stands still. Give them a show, and the fear turns to wonder." Then bright taps clicked across the paving. A skeleton strolled up, crystal bones catching the lamp's glow, one emerald eye shining. He swung a black cane and grinned wider than a skull should. "Skeeter," Daisy breathed. Her chest went tight. He'd walked out on her once, riddles and all, and here he came again like no time had passed. "A face that frightens is a door," Skeeter said, spinning the cane. "Open it with your feet, and the frightened forget to knock." "I'm not dancing for strangers." "You don't have to." He struck a rhythm, heel and toe, ringing off the stones. "I will. You just have to smile like you mean the eye." Daisy's pride burned. But six cold loaves burned worse. She stepped out from behind the counter. Skeeter danced. His crystal feet flashed pink and gold under the star lamp. People slowed. They stared at the tapping skeleton, then at the petal-faced baker beside him. Daisy raised a warm loaf and split it. Honey and citrus poured into the morning air. "First taste is free," she called, and grinned—eye and petals and all. A child took the bread first. Then the man in the work coat. He chewed, and his face changed, soft and far away, like he'd remembered a Sunday he'd lost. He set a coin on the counter. Others followed. The line curled past the lamp. By noon, the box was empty. Daisy had a fistful of coins and a queue that stayed. Leslie licked a sugar bead from her sleeve. "You'll want more loaves tomorrow, sugar." Daisy nodded, breathless. She had customers now. She also had Skeeter, leaning on his cane, waiting like he expected to be part of tomorrow too.